Chapter 9
JED
The first few days after New Year saw a steady flow of customers into Yorkshire’s Best. I had Anastasia in working full time and Lucy was in every day too, keen to work as many hours as she could before the new term started.
I spent most of the time in my temporary studio upstairs, only coming down to the gallery to cover lunch and breaks.
During my first month of trading, the artwork I’d created incorporating recognisable local landmarks had proved popular so I wanted to create several new locally set collections this year, the first of which was inspired by the Boxing Day activities.
Although it didn’t make sense to launch them until the autumn when thoughts were turning to Christmas once more, I wanted to commit them to canvas now while the scenes, atmosphere and feelings were strongest in my mind.
The first piece, inspired by the raft race, was complete.
A pair of sheep were the clear victors, rafting around a buoy in the harbour, while another pair of sheep were clinging onto each other as the ropes loosened on their raft and the barrels slipped away.
I’d started but temporarily abandoned the second piece.
It depicted the fancy dress dip and it had been going well but I hadn’t been able to stop my mind from replaying Aaron’s moment of heroism so I’d moved onto a fresh canvas and created that real-life scene instead.
I’d chosen the moment where Aaron was holding the swimmer up in the water and the inshore lifeboat was approaching them but drawing it had evoked another swirl of emotions inside me.
I felt like such a proud parent, but that was tinged with sadness and anger that my parenting had been cut short.
It wouldn’t go in the gallery – probably wouldn’t even be seen by anyone except Tara – but I’d had to capture it on canvas to forever keep a little piece of my son in my life.
At noon on Friday, Lucy appeared in the studio to grab her bag and coat.
‘I’m on my lunch break now and I’m going for a wander round the shops. There’s nobody downstairs at the moment so Anastasia says you don’t need to rush down. Ooh! That’s looking good. Very colourful.’
With Aaron’s picture now complete, I’d returned to the sheep having their fancy dress dip.
‘Thanks. Can you tell her I’ll finish this section – should only take me five minutes or so – but to shout me if it does get busy?’
‘Will do.’
Five minutes later, I’d finished what I was doing and went downstairs.
A woman was looking through the greetings cards, Anastasia was talking to a couple about the inspiration behind my style and there was someone standing at the far end of the gallery with their back to me, looking at the mounted prints from my Australian collection.
I only managed a cursory glance – not even registering if they were male or female – as the woman at the card rack had made her selection and was making her way towards me, blocking my view.
After I’d served her, I looked down the gallery and my stomach flip-flopped.
Was that Aaron? Surely not. I adjusted my position but I couldn’t see his face.
Taking a calming breath, I left the till and walked slowly towards him.
On the wall beside the prints was my photo and an explanation about the origins of my artwork and he seemed to be reading that.
I was closing the gap and it was definitely him but I had no idea what to say.
This would be our third encounter in about as many weeks and the second one he’d instigated.
I could start with hello but it seemed so trite.
Fancy seeing you here sprung to mind but that was a typically British thing said to someone you were fully expecting to encounter and I certainly hadn’t expected this.
The prints included four marsupials native to Australia – a koala, wallaby, wombat and quokka.
‘You loved wombats when you were little,’ I said.
‘I still do.’ He continued to stare at the prints. ‘I remember having a soft toy one but I don’t know what happened to it.’
‘Wally. He, erm… I’ve still got him.’
Aaron’s head shot round and his eyes met mine. ‘Why do you have him?’
How could I tell him that his mother had refused to take Wally the wombat to Declan’s because I was the one who’d bought it? It had seemed so cruel when it was Aaron’s favourite soft toy.
‘He got left behind in the move.’
‘Why didn’t you send him on?’
‘I… It was…’ I shrugged, unable to think of an answer that wouldn’t drop Ingrid in it. ‘Sorry, Aaron, but you’ll have to ask your mother.’
I expected him to either demand I tell him why I’d kept Wally or to storm out, but he pointed to the information plaque.
‘Why does it say that?’
Even if he hadn’t pointed, I’d have known the line he was referring to:
None of my artwork would exist if it wasn’t for my three wonderful children. They loved drawing and their pictures of round, cuddly animals with big smiles made me feel so happy. I wanted to create artwork which evoked that same warmth and happiness.
‘You only have two children,’ he added.
There was a challenge in his eyes but the way he nibbled on his thumbnail conveyed his vulnerability and I couldn’t help feeling he’d come here needing reassurance that I hadn’t abandoned him six years ago. I could easily give him that without going into the full story.
‘I’ve always thought of you as my son,’ I said, my voice husky as I forced it out over the lump in my throat. ‘I know I didn’t get to be your dad for the past six years but that’s not because I didn’t want to be.’
He teased his bottom lip with his upper teeth and I could see the conflict inside him, comparing what I was saying with what Ingrid and Declan had told him. Eventually he shrugged.
‘I’d better go.’
I didn’t want him to leave, but I didn’t know what else to say to keep him here. Ingrid’s warning to stay away from him echoed round my head and it made me so mad that Aaron was clearly hurting and wanted answers.
He took one more look at the wombat. ‘Is Wally here, in Whitsborough Bay?’
‘He is. Would you like him back?’
His eyes lit up for a moment, but he must have decided that it wasn’t cool for a twelve-year-old boy to want his old soft toy back because he shrugged before shaking his head. I wasn’t convinced by the no.
‘Tell you what. Why don’t I bring him with me tomorrow and put him upstairs in my studio? If you happen to be passing and decide you’d like him, you can call in.’
‘Up to you.’ He glanced back at the prints. ‘They’re good, especially the wombat.’
‘Thank you.’
I wanted to tell him he could have a copy – call it a late Christmas present – but I could guess how that would go down with Ingrid. About as well as him being here today, because I couldn’t imagine he was here with her approval.
Even though Aaron had said he’d better go, he showed no signs of leaving.
Was he expecting me to expand on what I’d said about always viewing him as my son?
Did he want to discuss Boxing Day? It had to have taken a lot of courage for him to turn up at the restaurant on Dad’s birthday and to show up here today so maybe I should take a leaf out of his book and be courageous too.
To hell with Ingrid’s threats. My son deserved to know the truth and, on the back of that, perhaps there was a chance for us to have some sort of reconciliation.
What was that phrase Tara used? A few minutes of courage might change your life. It might change both of our lives.
‘Sorry, Jed,’ Anastasia said, joining us. ‘Could I borrow you to answer a question?’
My heart sank and I looked at Aaron apologetically.
‘I was going anyway,’ he said and, without a goodbye, he hurried across the gallery and out of the door.
I took a deep breath and turned to Anastasia’s customers with a smile. ‘Hi! You have a question for me?’
After the customers left with a pair of prints, I nipped upstairs under the guise of making drinks, but it was really to get some space to think.
Both Lucy and Tara had separately said that, no matter how angry Aaron had been at my dad’s birthday meal, he must have wanted a relationship with me to have sought me out.
Now he’d done it again, specifically coming to my gallery and engaging me in a conversation.
Telling him I’d bring Wally the wombat in tomorrow gave him a reason to come back and I hoped he’d take it.
Spending time with him was going to be painful for me but it would be worth it if it could help him overcome any feelings of abandonment.
Ingrid wouldn’t be impressed but, for once, this wasn’t about her.
If I got some more time with him, I was going to take that few minutes of courage.